


The Night Will Always Win

by WolfesPuppies



Category: The Great Library Series - Rachel Caine
Genre: AU, Canon Typical Violence, Character Death, Suicide Pact, everyone dies, like thats the plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-18
Updated: 2019-09-18
Packaged: 2020-10-21 09:54:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20691578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WolfesPuppies/pseuds/WolfesPuppies
Summary: What if the battle at the end of Smoke and Iron went horribly, horribly wrong?In case the tags didn't warn you enough, everyone dies.





	The Night Will Always Win

**Author's Note:**

> I'm very very sorry.

The battle in the arena goes hopelessly, terribly wrong. They know they've lost from the moment the tunnel doors shut behind them, from the moment Morgan falls to her knees and bullets pepper the ground between her and Jess, leaving her stranded and alone, collar tight around her neck and chains preventing her from tearing it off. When Dario's limp body is thrown next to her, bloody and bruised and entirely too still.

The birds come first, death on sharp wings. High Garda and thieves alike fire into the cloud but there's too many and they're too small. Anit dies first, a beak buried in her eye and as she falls she looks all of her fourteen years, too many and not enough and over. Thieves see her fall, and stop. Not known for their loyalty, this little girl inspired it in people who spent their lives avoiding it, and now she's gone there is nothing left for them to cleave to and so they scatter, but they don't make it far. Birds chase them down, bullets from the High Garda Elite fell them, and Jess watches as people he would have called cousin fall like apples from a tree.

The minute the birds had come, Jess had run to Morgan, unable to shield herself with her wrists and her powers shackled. His hands are shaking too much to use his trusty picks, unable to feel the pins and tumblers through the vibrations running through the floor of the arena, and then the automata arrive, gods striding across the expanse like they were made for it, and maybe they were made for it, shining figures that only bring death and destruction. Khalila had run at the same time, dropping to her knees by Dario’s side and now Jess can hear her saying something in Arabic and what could be Spanish except it doesn’t quite sound right behind him. Jess tries the locks on Morgan’s cuffs again, drops the picks, loses them amongst the debris already on the floor, and in a moment of desperation, pulls his firearm and shoots through the chain. The minute Morgan’s hands are free she reaches up to pull the collar from her neck, flinging it across the arena just in time to see it crushed under the foot of a god.

“Jess, Jess, I’m sorry,” she’s sobbing as she almost leaps into his arms. “I can’t help, I can’t do anything, Gregory-“

The gods come ever nearer, seemingly headed directly for the three of them, and Jess cuts Morgan off as he unceremoniously shoves her behind him and brings his gun up to bear, the goddess Bast looming above him. The bullets do no good, even when Khalila joins in from behind, and Bast pulls its flail back ready to strike. There is no time to do anything, and the last thing Jess feels is a hand in each of his own, the girl he loves and the one he would call sister.

Glain is fighting side by side with Santi, firing low as he fires high, when they see Khalila, Jess, and Morgan disappear under the flail of Bast. They exchange a quick glance, a look around to where Thomas is, a mutual nod of agreement that neither of them are making it out of this alive, and Glain is sprinting across the sand, long legs eating up the distance like its nothing. Thomas is sprawled against the side of the arena where he’d been thrown by one of the automata, leg at an awkward angle and clutching his Ray of Apollo like it’s his last chance of survival, and it may very well be.

“Glain.” Thomas gasps as she reaches him, sliding the last few feet to come to a rest against the wall, gun still trained on the battle. “I saw Jess-“

“Gone.” Glain doesn’t sugar coat her words, knows Thomas wouldn’t appreciate it. “Just us two left. And Wolfe, and Santi.” The words almost catch in her throat, surprising even her.

Thomas nods once, fierce. “I won’t go back to a cell.”

“Not if I can help it.” She promises. “Can I have that?” She gestures to his Ray, and he hands it over willingly. Glain takes a stance in front of him and aims at the figure of Horus. The beam is deadly and slices the automaton neatly in half, wire ends burnt to a crisp as they spill out. There is a moment when it seems like they may get a reprieve, a moment to regroup and reform, but then the door to Glain and Thomas’s left opens, and yet another phalanx of automata arrive, more gods and lions and sphinxes, too many to count.

Glain curses fluently, attracting the attention of Anubis. The jackal head turns slowly, inexorably, and it’s all Glain can do to stand her ground. The Ray needs charging before it can fire again, and there’s no time, and so she faces her death head on, as any good soldier should. The flail comes down, once, twice, and then a whistle blows, and everything stops.

There is a moment, between chaos and silence, where no one knows what is happening, but Wolfe and Santi cleave to each other, as always.

“The children?” Wolfe almost doesn’t want to ask. Santi only shakes his head. Wolfe nods once, unable to trust his voice.

“No matter what happens, we go together.” Santi’s voice is fierce as he pulls Wolfe into his arms.

“Together.”

Some of Santi's soldiers are still alive but they, like Santi and Wolfe, have realised this is the end, and have downed weapons without being ordered. Santi doesn't begrudge them this; he was amazed that so many would follow him into the arena in the first place, and loyalty only goes so far. Automata line the walls of the arena and the seats are empty, the Scholars and Librarians fled as soon as the fighting began.

"All traitors will kneel and submit to me." The Archivist's smooth voice echoes over the arena. "All those who refuse will be imprisoned or executed." Most do as they are told, until eventually Santi and Wolfe are left standing, surrounded by High Garda Elite and the centre of attention.

"Nic."

"I know."

“_Nic.”_ That tone of voice from Wolfe is so familiar to Santi. It’s the one that precedes a downwards spiral into memories both of them would rather forget.

“I know.”

Santi and Wolfe turn to face each other, the crowd fading away like ghosts until it's just the two of them.

"I love you, Christopher, more than anything." Santi thought he knew what heartbreak felt like, thought he'd felt it a few minutes before as he watched their children fall like dominos, but that was a prick of a needle compared to this. This is all-consuming, a pit so dark and deep it seems like there is no end, barbs in his throat and his heart is surely ripping itself in two, there can be no other explanation for the agony in his chest.

"We go together. I don't know what comes next, but I don't care, as long as we're together. Nic, I love you." They share one last kiss, brief and chaste, before Santi, with all the speed and grace of a soldier, pulls his gun, puts it to Christopher Wolfe's head, and pulls the trigger.

Before Santi can put it to his own temple, before he even lowers Wolfe to the bloodied sand, he is tackled from behind, the gun wrested from his grip. He fights, out of habit more than anything, twisting in the grip of the soldiers to try and avoid being pushed onto Wolfe's body. He is finally hauled to his knees, hands restrained tightly behind his back and a hand on each shoulder, gun pointed at his head. The Artifex stands in front of him, his robes and his smug smile untouched by the battle.

"If I were a kind man, I'd kill you now and be done with it. But why would I do that, when you've given me such a _wonderful_ gift?"

"I haven't given you anything." There's no emotion to the words, for Santi has no emotion left to offer. The casual slap that follows, the blood welling from a graze made by the Artifex's ring, they all feel like they're happening to someone else, someone whose soul isn't lying on the floor by their side.

"Ahh but you have. I've wanted Christo-"

"You don't say his name." Santi snarls, the all-consuming grief suddenly giving way to fury, fire burning up his chest. "After what you did to him, you _don't say his name_.” This time it's not a slap but the butt of a gun slammed into Santi's cheek, almost sending him sprawling if it weren't for the soldiers behind holding him up. The Artifex drops to one knee, a surprisingly graceful movement for an old man, and grabs Santi's chin in one hand, squeezing hard behind his jaw with fingers that feel like claws. He can already feel the bruise blooming on his cheek, blood filling his mouth and coating his teeth. He’s visited by a strong desire to spit it in the face of the man in front of him.

"I will say his name however much I want. I've wanted Christopher dead for a very long time. I never thought it would be you who did it."

"Anything to keep your filthy hands away from him."

The Artifex continues like Santi hadn’t spoken. “However, I never wanted _you _dead. You're a very capable soldier, one of our best-"

"What makes you think I would ever work for you?"

"What makes you think you'd have a choice? The Artifex’s reply is sharp, like a whip lash. “We have some _very_ talented Mesmers. I’ll instruct them to leave just enough of you behind, so you know what you’re doing, and have you dig graves. For him -“ Here he gestures to Wolfe’s body, using his grip on Santi’s chin to make him look too before finally releasing him. “For the children you helped corrupt, for the soldiers who followed you blindly into battle. It will go unmarked and unrecorded, until eventually all anyone knows of this whole sorry affair is that you do not go against The Library.”

Santi is silent, unable and unwilling to comprehend the cruelty of the man in front of him. He’s known for a long time, ever since Wolfe’s return from Rome, part of what the Artifex is capable of, but this is something else entirely.

“Nothing to say? No insults? No matter. Take him away.” The Artifex stands and walks away before the soldiers stood holding Santi’s shoulders can adjust their grip to pull him to his feet. He doesn’t resist, just takes one last lingering look at Wolfe as the soldiers prepare to lead him away. They don’t take more than half a dozen steps before another gunshot rings out, and Niccolo Santi slumps in the arms of those holding him, a neat circle placed exactly between his eyes. The Artifex half turns, but doesn’t get any further before he too falls to the floor and Zara Cole lowers her weapon.

A neat memorial stands before the steps of the Serapeum in Alexandria, placed so that anyone passing to climb the steps cannot miss it.

_Scholar Christopher Wolfe_

_Captain Niccolo Santi_

_Scholar Khalila Seif_

_Scholar Dario Santiago_

_Scholar Thomas Schreiber_

_Sergeant Glain Wathen_

_Private Jess Brightwell_

_Morgan Hault_

_These eight people died in an attempt to overthrow the corrupt and the powerful who had taken the Great Library and used it for their own purposes. Remember them._

_Super Onnia Vincit Veritas  
_

** **


End file.
